HetaSiren
by JasperSoliana
Summary: Romano has been missing for months. However, one night he appears on Prussia's doorstep and what he reveals changes everything he knows about his fellow nations.
1. The Return and Kidnapping of Romano

Thunder roared in the sky, lightning flashing and illuminating the dark night briefly. Prussia sat on his brother's couch, loyal to the promise he had made. Germany had went with a searching party to look for Romano, who had been missing for months. While the albino nation wanted to assist, his younger brother needed someone to guard the fort while he was gone. Prussia was reluctant to oblige.

The TV was acting up because of the lightning. It didn't matter though; there was nothing of interest on anyway. The ex-nation's ruby eyes instead focused on his DS. He was just about to capture the Legendary Xerneas and-!

Knock, knock, knock!

Prussia froze. He looked at the clock. A quarter after one in the morning. Who would come to visit at this hour? Was it his brother? Did they find Romano?

Armed only in his chick-patterned boxers, the albino rushed to answer the door. Afterall, he was just as worried about the missing country as anyone else.

The person who stood at the door nearly made Prussia fall over in shock. Soaked from the rain, beaten, battered, and stained with blood was a weary Romano!

"R-Romano!?" The ex-nation gasped, "What are you doing here!? Where have you been!? We've all been worried-!"

The eldest Italian brother didn't give Prussia a chance to finish. He toppled onto the ground, soaking the welcome mat.

Prussia laid all the blankets he could find over the wounded nation, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. He had already patched up what injuries he could with the knowledge he was equipped with. Luckily, Germany always made a habit of keeping several first-aid kits and bandages around the house.

After aiding Romano, Prussia pulled out his cellphone to call his brother.

The phone rang several times, and the eldest German brother redialed the number time after time again. However, Germany never answered.

"Of all times to ignore me…" The albino grumbled. He decided to dial Spain instead.

His Spanish friend answered, but his voice was cracked and shaking from worry. Spain was really scared for his little Roma.

"H… Hola…?" Came the weary voice of the normally cheerful nation.

"Antonio," Prussia used Spain's "human" name, as all nations were required to do when speaking to each other on the phone, "I found Lovino."

"You found Roma-er, L-Lovino!? Really!? Where are you!?"

The albino raised his eyebrow. Spain sounded strange… almost demanding. After a second thought, Prussia shrugged it off. Anyone would act strange if their child had been missing for so long, right?

"We're at my brother's house," Prussia finally answered, "He was-."

Beep, beep, beep, beep…

The ex-nation brought the phone away from his ear, giving it an intense glare.

"... He hung up on me!"

It didn't take long for Spain to show up on Germany's doorstep. Prussia let his friend in only to be pushed aside as the Spanish man rushed to check on his beloved underling.

By now, Romano was awake. The Italian shivered from both the cold and his fear. His hazel eyes were wide, darting back and forth like a maniac. When Spain entered, however, he locked his frightened eyes on his former caretaker.

The previously missing nation cried out at first before recognition and relief washed over him. He allowed his Boss to hold him in a tight embrace.

"Roma, oh, Roma…!" The Spaniard whispered, "I'm so glad you're okay!"

Romano didn't answer, merely nodded.

"What happened to you, Romano?" Prussia couldn't help himself from asking.

Again, Romano remained silent. The only person still speaking was Spain, doting on his dear Italian. Though after a moment or two, the oldest Italian seemed to finally gain the courage to speak.

"I…" He began, "I… I was kidnapped."

Both Prussia and Spain widened their eyes in shock.

"Kidnapped!?" The Spaniard repeated, earning another nod from his "Roma."

"By whom!?" The ex-nation demanded.

Once more, Romano hesitated. Doubt crossed his already disturbed features as he seemed to struggle to find words.

"Spit it out! I'll beat the fucker to death for it!" Prussia yelled, making his anger known.

"N-No!" The Italian cried out, distressed, "You can't!"

"And why not, Roma?" Spain asked.

"B… Because… Because… The person who did it was... he…" Romano swallowed before he continued, "He… He is my brother…"

Neither the ex-nation or the Spanish nation had any words. All they could do was stare at the eldest Italian in absolute amazement. Italy? As in, Italy the Coward? Why would he do this to his own brother? HOW would he?

Romano's face fell. He mumbled under his breath, "You don't believe me…"

"N-No, Roma! We believe you!" Spain assured him, "It's just…"

"Hard to take in," Prussia finished, "... really hard."

"You don't say," the sour Italian spat, characteristically sarcastic as always, "He dragged me down to our basement and he… he…"

The poor Italian clearly couldn't finish. He scrunched his eyes shut as horrible memories came back to haunt him. He buried his face into his hands, choking on heartbroken sobs.

Spain held Romano tighter in attempt to comfort him. He murmured things in Spanish that seemed to ease the traumatized nation to an extent.

The albino saw this as a sign to leave the two alone for a minute. Besides, he needed time to think.

Prussia made himself some bratwurst and sat back down on the couch. He still couldn't quite grasp the idea of little Italy showing any cruel tendencies. Though very cowardly, the younger Italian was such a albino didn't think he had a bad cell in his body.

Could Romano have been fooled? Unlikely. Brothers as close as the Italians were wouldn't mistake the other for someone else.

But why would Italy Veneziano harm his big brother? From what Prussia understood, the younger sibling adored Romano… t-to an extent. Even when you're Italy, one can only handle so much Romano.

Perhaps that was it? Romano did have a tendency to verbally abuse people he cared about. Maybe he said something that made Italy snap.

Whatever the case, Prussia had to tell Germany. If Italy really was dangerous, he would need to know right away.

Finishing off the rest of his bratwurst, Prussia drew out his phone once more.

Still no answer, no matter how he tried.

Sighing, the albino checked the time again. Half past four in the morning. Had he really been sitting on the couch thinking for that long? Perhaps it was stupid to think that his brother would be awake to answer his phone right now.

He set his phone down on the side table and went to go check on Romano and Spain in his brother's bedroom. They might like something to eat as well.

When he went in, however, both the Spaniard and the Italian were gone.

"... Romano?" Prussia called out, "... Spain? Where did you guys go?"

The bed was in disarray now, blankets hanging half on the mattress and half on the floor. Pillows were scattered across the room.

"... The hell? Did… Did they have a spontaneous pillow fight? How did I not hear…?"

The window was open, the curtains whipping wildly from the stormy winds.

Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut. Did Italy or whoever it was break in to take Romano back? No, surely Prussia would have heard something. Shuffling, anything…

Spain's car revved up in the driveway.

Instinctively, Prussia rushed out the front door, still only wearing his boxers. He barely got there in time to see Spain driving off with a terrified Romano in the passenger seat. The look on the older Italian's face was all the ex-nation needed.

He ran to the garage and hopped on his motorcycle. His lack of a license meant nothing at this point. He was not going to let poor Romano get kidnapped again.

By the time the garage door opened, Spain was already out of the driveway and on the flooded streets. Prussia gave his handle a jerk and his bike roared to life. It was gonna be a wet, bumpy ride.

Slamming the pedal to the metal, the albino zoomed out of his driveway, chasing after the Spaniard.

Of course, Spain wouldn't go easy on his pursuer just because they had been friends. He made sure to take sharp, unpredictable turns in attempt to lose him.

Prussia, however, stayed right on his tail until Spain faked him out. While Prussia turned on the road he had expected Spaniard to turn on, Romano and his captor flew straight ahead.

"Fuck!" The ex-nation swore as he took the time to turn around. He would not lose Romano like this!

But it was too late. Before Prussia could make a U-Turn, Spain had already vanished onto another road. There was no telling which way he could have gone.

The still half naked nation ran a frustrated hand through his white hair. He swore several times before driving back home. He would need to come up with a plan before blindly chasing after Spain again.

Dressed in a white undershirt and open flannel shirt with dark jeans and converse, Prussia contemplated as to where Spain could have taken Romano to. His first guess was Spain's house, but surely he wouldn't be that stupid.

… Second thoughts told him yes. Yes, he would be that stupid.

First, the ex-nation would check Spain's house. Then, if the two of them weren't there, he would check Italy's house. There was a possibility Spain could be working with Italy… The two had become very close, especially after Romano disappeared.

Prussia didn't even have to go inside to be able to tell they weren't there. The garage door and front door were both wide open. Furthermore, there was not a sign of Spain's car anywhere. The Spaniard must have really been in a hurry to leave both of those doors open.


	2. Spain the Wise

"Bastard!" Romano snapped, banging his fist into the hood of the car, "Where are we going!?"

"I told you, Roma. England's house," Spain answered wearily. He was exhausted from having his Prussian friend hot on his tail.

"What makes you think I'd want to see that tea-loving prick!?"

Just then, Spain gave Romano a glare so dark that it made him shut his mouth completely. The Italian had never seen a look like that on the Spaniard before, and it frightened him.

"... B... Boss...?" He asked.

"If what you say is true," Spain said, his tone low and foreboding, "England may have been on to something earlier."

"Earlier? You talked to him?"

"Before you showed up at Germany's house, yeah. England was spouting off something about the stars being in position or whatever and said that soon, we nations would start turning against each other."

Romano rolled his eyes. "It's England, Boss. It's probably just some witchy bullshit. It's definitely not a reason to scare the shit out of me and leave your friend behind like that. He probably thinks you kidnapped me!"

"Or he's thinking about how he's going to kidnap you and kill you! Or worse!" Spain pointed out, "If England's right, we can't trust anyone!"

"If YOU'RE right, we can't trust England either!" Romano snapped back.

The car came to a screeching halt. The Spaniard nation stared at the empty road ahead of them, eyes widened with realization.

Concerned, Romano waved a hand in front of Spain's face. "Boss? Hello? What's wrong with you?"

"Mios Dio, we can't trust England! You're right!" Spain exclaimed.

The eldest Italian brother smacked his head into the dashboard and groaned.

"Que?" Asked the tomato-loving airhead.

"JUST TAKE US HOME, YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH!" Romano screamed, his voice reverberating throughout the car.

Spain had never made a u-turn so fast in his entire life.

Meanwhile, back to Prussia...

Prussia couldn't find anything at Spain's house that could serve as a clue. The only thing he saw was that the knives in the kitchen were knocked over and that several vases, picture frames, and glasses had been shattered. Obviously, his "friend" had thrown a bitch fit earlier.

He drove to Italy's house, his stomach churning the entire way. Prussia had previously had a crush on the younger Italian brother, so the thought of him being abusive made him sick. He felt his pocket for his pocket knife, feeling the bump protruding from his jeans. He didn't want to hurt Italy, but he would do whatever it took to protect Romano, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

Too soon, the Prussian neared his destination. He decided that it would be best to park in an alley and walk the rest of the way. He didn't want Italy to hear him coming if he was a threat.

He approached the house, taking care to step lightly and carefully. He noticed that the lights in the house were on. Italy was home.

With a nervous gulp, Prussia crouched and snuck underneath the window. He lifted himself up just enough to peer inside. What he saw was the kitchen. Nothing looked out of place. A pot of water was boiling on the stove, pasta sitting on the counter beside it. Typical.

Prussia pulled away from the window and stood the rest of the way up. Neither Italian nor the Spaniard were anywhere to be seen inside. He decided to sneak around into the back to see if they were hiding in one of the bedrooms.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head and everything faded to black.


	3. Brothers and Friends

HetaSiren (Ch. 3)

by JigokuTsuriana, 5 days, 20 hours ago

Literature / Fan Fiction / Horror

After a very tense car ride, Romano and Spain finally made it back to their house. However, neither of them wanted to go inside when they saw both the garage door and front door were open.

"What the hell? Were you in that much of a hurry to see me?" Romano asked.

Spain didn't answer. His face was pale.

"Boss? Hello? What's wrong?"

"... Someone was here." Spain whispered. "I didn't leave either of those doors open."

"Ruh... Really? D-Do you think it was my...?" Romano trailed off.

"Or Prussia..." Spain said.

"... We should get out of here, Boss. Whoever it was might still be here."

The Spaniard could only nod in response. The thought of someone being in his house waiting to strike was unnerving.

"Boss... Boss, look at me."

Spain obeyed.

Romano's eyes held a sort of determination that Spain wasn't used to seeing. The Italian's jaw was locked in a stern frown.

"It's okay. We're going to be okay." The eldest Italian brother told him.

The Spaniard looked away, but nodded. Silently, he drove back out of the drive way. They drove on and on, out of the neighborhood and out of the main parts of town.

"Boss, where are we going?" Romano asked, finally breaking the silence.

"... I... I don't know, Lovi. I don't know where it's safe or who's our friend. I don't know anything anymore."

For the first time since Spain could recall, he felt Romano take his hand. They were rougher than he remembered, but still warm and comforting.

"... Maybe you were right, Boss. Maybe... Maybe Prussia's gone nuts, too. So... Maybe... Maybe we SHOULD go talk to the tea-bastard."

"I thought you said that we couldn't trust him, either?"

"I know what I said!" The Italian snapped, "But... At least it's a plan. I'm sorry I dismissed it earlier... I was just..."

Spain smiled. "It's okay, Lovi. I know you're stressed. You have a right to be with what you've been through. And despite that, you're acting extremely calm. I'm proud of you."

The Spaniard glanced at his former underling to see that his face had brightened. A ghost of a smile played on his lips.

"... You mean that, Boss?"

"Of course, I do. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

With that, Spain made yet another u-turn and headed to England's house.

The Kirkland Residence was in a state of disarray. Potted plants were broken, dirt scattered across the carpets. Picture frames were smashed on the floor. Walls were bashed in and speckled with blood. The chandelier lay shattered in the main hall.

In the dining room, the table was flipped onto it's side and broken in half. Silverware and dishes were scattered about. In the middle of the mess was the body of Scotland. He had a knife protruding from the small of his back.

Curled up in the corner was a very shaken England. Tears ran down his blood stained cheeks as he stared wide-eyed at what he'd done. How could he do this to his own brother?

He had barged into his home in what he could only assume was a drunken rage. Scotland began destroying everything in his path and tried to strangle England to death. He had only meant to stop him... not kill him!

A knock sounded on the front door and England froze. He didn't know if he could face anyone right now... Not after what he'd done.

"... Hello?" A voice called from the main hall. It sounded like France, "Angleterre, are you home?"

England could hear his footsteps get closer. What could he do? He couldn't hide. He couldn't deny what he had done. He wasn't even sure if he could stand after what Scotland had done to his leg.

It wasn't long until France emerged in the doorframe and saw the mess in the dining room.

The French man took one look at the body in the middle of the floor and immediately had to step out. England could hear his rival wretching outside.

After successfully expelling his lunch, France stepped back in and noticed England curled up in the corner.

"A-Angleterre!? What happened!? Why is Scotland...?!"

England couldn't bring himself to answer. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a choked noise. He thought he was done sobbing, but the feeling that welled up in his throat told him otherwise. His tears began to blind his vision and he dropped his head.

Suddenly, he felt arms around him and he instinctively jerked away.

"Relax, Angleterre..." France murmured, now kneeling next to him, "Just tell me what happened."

"I... He... I-I..." England tried to find the words to explain.

"... You look awful," the Frenchman stated, wiping a spot of blood off of England's cheek, "Did Scotland do this to you?"

The Englishman slowly nodded.

"... So you're not the only one."

England looked up at France. "... What do you mean?"

"Well, before I came here," France explained, "Mon petit Canada suddenly lashed out at me. He grabbed his hockey stick and chased me while screaming that I was a no-good hoser. I barely escaped with my life, I suppose..."

"Canada? R-Really...?"

"Oui. That is correct. If something weird is going on, you usually know what it is. So I came here."

England's brow furrowed and he wiped his tears from his cheeks. He pondered about something for a moment before speaking again.

"... France, I need you to help me to my basement."

"You know something?" France asked, raising his eyebrow.

"I think so," England answered, "I talked to Spain about it earlier before. But I need to check to make sure."

"Spain was here?"

"I-I'll explain later. But I really need your help."

"Oh, of course."

France lifted England to his feet, letting his rival use him as a makeshift crutch.

Prussia opened his eyes to complete darkness, the back of his head throbbing. He tried to move, but found that his arms and legs were bound by what felt like straps. The air was heavy here, smelling of blood and mold.

He thought he could hear someone sobbing, which unnerved him.

"Hello?" He called out to the darkness.

The sobbing only continued.

A door creaked open, leaking a small beam of light to illuminate the room. A light switched on.

There at the doorway stood Italy. Instead of his usual blue uniform, however, he wore a tan uniform with a little cap adorned with a purple, feathery decoration. Something about the Italian's eyes seemed off, but Prussia couldn't place it.

"I'm so glad that you were able to visit me today, Prussia." Italy said, a sinister grin playing on his lips, "I hope you've been enjoying your stay with my other 'guest.'" He gestured to the other side of the room.

Prussia looked the other way and saw Germany strapped to the wall in the same fashion he was. His poor little brother was stripped down to his white briefs, long red marks scattered across his body as if he had been whipped. The blonde German's head was dropped as he softly sobbed.

"Germany always had a thing for BDSM... So I thought he would enjoy a good whipping. Oh, and I might have zapped him a little. Okay, a lot." Italy chuckled as if he had made a joke.

"You... You sick motherfucker-!"

Prussia was cut off by a knife flinging right past his head and into the wooden wall. The blade was so close to hitting him, it cut his cheek. The Prussian's breath hitched.

Now Italy's gaze was distorted in a dark rage. His violet eyes seemed to pierce Prussia's very soul.

Wait... Violet? Were his eyes always that color?

"As much as I would love to kill you right here and now, I want a couple of answers," Italy demanded, cutting Prussia off from his thoughts.

"I'm not telling you a damn thing!" Prussia snapped.

The Italian gave a little smile in response. "Is that so?"

"Damn straight! Go ahead and kill me if you want! My mouth is shut for good!"

Italy shrugged and withdrew another knife from his jacket. He twirled it carelessly in his fingers as he stepped towards Germany, who flinched with each step that his former ally grew closer.

"Then I suppose..." Italy trailed off before slamming his knife into the younger German's arm. The blonde nation threw his head back and screamed.

"What the fuck are you doing to my brother!? STOP!" Prussia cried.

"But... I thought you said you weren't go to tell me anything. That pretty much gives me the okay to do whatever I want to your brother." Italy replied as he pulled the knife back out. It made a gross squish as it left Germany's soft flesh.

"Like HELL it does!"

"Look, Prussia, I'm sorry I have to do this," Italy said in a mock sympathetic tone, "I don't have any other way to get information out of you. So I'll give it to you straight... If you DON'T tell me what I want to know I'll torture your brother to death right in front of you."

"Why are you doing this!?" Prussia yelled, "He's your friend! I'M your friend! What the hell did we do to you!?"

"What did you do...?" Italy repeated back, "... What did you do? Did you seriously just fucking ask me that? What did you do!?"

The angry Italian stomped to Prussia and roughly pressed his knife to his throat.

"I'll tell you what you fucking did! You called me worthless! A coward! Helpless! All of you! You all treated me like a helpless, miserable, fucking piece of shit! Does that clear up anything for you!?"

Prussia tried to speak, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Italy pressed the blade harder into his neck.

"And if you don't think I'll fucking kill you right now, you are really stupid! If it were up to me, I'd fucking slice your stomach open, rip out your entrails, and give you a shot of adrenaline so that you could watch as I strangle your brother with YOUR OWN DAMN INTESTINES!"

The Prussian was speechless.

Italy pulled his knife away and sighed. "I... I must apologize for my outburst. I can usually keep myself far more composed than that. Now... You were just about to tell me where my stupid brother went, weren't you?"

Prussia gulped. What could he do? He didn't want to betray Romano, but at the same time he wanted to protect his brother? He doubted he could play dumb... Italy wouldn't buy it.

Germany's broken sobs made Prussia cringe. He had never seen his brother in this state before. Whatever Italy had done, it must have been truly horrible.

Damn it... What the hell was he supposed to do here!?


End file.
